They decided not to spend any time together anymore.
At times he would absent mindedly rub his thumb and index finger together when he'd be lost in his thought. Or when he'd turn towards her when they were all in the study room in a moment of communal laughter; their eyes would meet and for a flickering moment they would both forget their agreement. But then her eyes would widen slightly, and he'd drop his gaze until they fell to her chin. He'd remember the softness of her skin when he had tilted her head towards him. He'd remember the quiet smile they shared before the absurdity for their relationship enveloped them once again, forcing them to break apart – like an unwanted house guest that penetrated their domestic harmony.
So they agreed to wean themselves of each other's company. They promised each other that it was for the best, that for the sake of her and their group or whatever they think they're trying to protect, that it was better for them to keep their distance. He gripped her hand in his, marvelling how his fingers swallowed hers as if a monstrous, looming shadow was threatening to consume her. He dropped her off at the entrance of her apartment building and had turned off the engine. There were drunken shouts that came through his car windows in muffled waves – evidence that life went on when theirs came to an abrupt conclusion. She stared out of his passenger window, he wondered if she even noticed the pressure of his hand increased with every minute, and every breath. He finally whispered her name. It hung in the air, draping over and echoing through his mind. She turned her head to face him. The neon lights of blue, red and green danced recklessly over her pale skin but could not even compare to the blaze he saw in her eyes. He realized they were tears.
They sat there in the darkness. He thought of all the lines in the movies his past girlfriends forced him to watch. He wondered if he should be promising her anything.
In another life, maybe.
You had me had hello.
As you wish m'lady.
Here's looking at you, kid.
But as he rallied through those ridiculous quotes in his head, all he remembered seeing was the determined look in her eyes before her lips engulfed his. He lifted her from the passenger seat and she scrambled with him to and finally straddled him on his lap. Her fingers desperately gripped the lengths of his hair, their breaths shallow and forced. Her skirt soon rode up her milky white legs as she settled more forcefully down on him and he was soon traveling the length of her thighs, nearly choking against her with lust and temptation.
Then he tasted her tears and he stopped. He pulled away from their embrace and she, feeling the sudden withdrawal from his warmth, gasped a sobbing cry and burrowed her face against his chest, her body crashing against his in painful waves as her cries coursed through her. She wept, gripped his shirt to her face, not caring to regain control. For once just allowing the little girl she tried too hard to repress, overpower her.
The moon slipped from behind the silver clouds. Her fluorescent rays penetrated his windshield, clearly illuminating a couple accustomed to shadows and confusion.
He let her go, and she let him leave.
He spends his weekends at Britta's.
It started when he showed up at her door on a Friday evening with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He had shouldered his way into her small apartment and declared he will be a bachelor until his body drops dead because women were nothing but buckets of hormonal stress. Her quirked eyebrow reminded him that she was a woman, and he quickly muttered that he didn't think of her as a woman – not anymore anyway.
To her credit, she let that remark pass and she knew Jeff's bullshit too well to take any real offense. Instead, she closed the door; confused more than anything else about his sudden appearance. She wondered when they had reached the point in their friendship where they could come crying on one another's shoulders when their lives had hit rock bottom, which was what she assumed he had hit as she took in his dishevelled manner. His hair was flattened in a way that he would normally dub "boring"; his shirt was creased and she noted a coffee stain near the collar; and he was wearing crocs for god's sake. Britta didn't exactly pride herself in her fashion sense, but even she knew to stay away from those.
She never questioned him about what made him come over that night. She had wordlessly produced two glasses from the kitchen and settled down across from him. Her orange tabby, Gerald, had curled up at Jeff's feet and he was stroking the ginger fur with a faraway look in his eye. They talked of school, and work. He described his latest projects as a consultant at Ted's firm. He never held her gaze for too long, preferring to speak into his drink rather than at her. It was only after the fifth shot of whiskey and he had thrown the glass to the side that he raised his eyes blearily to hers. They held an emptiness that she had seen only a few times in her life. Once when she was six and her mother had told her that Dad had been in a car accident, and another when she broke up with Daniel, her high school sweetheart – the look on his face when she told him she was going to Ghana instead of marrying him after graduation.
It was the look of a breaking heart.
So, she never pressed. Though she did try to piece everything together; Troy had informed her of Annie's meltdown and Jeff's subsequent confession during her tantrum but he didn't know what came of it after they both ran off. She was going through her own identity crisis at that point so she never put too much thought into the situation. But Jeff had began showing up at her doorstep the weekend right after first week of term, so if her, albeit introductory, classes helped with any indication, Jeff was going through the phases of grief. The question was what he lost exactly. Britta hadn't thought to venture too deeply into the depths of Annie and Jeff's relationship; Jeff had always been a sensitive, nay, a sore spot for her. As much as they did joke around about their platonic relationship, she still had harboured feelings for the man, no matter how shallow.
But after the fourth weekend, Britta knew to seek the advice of other people. She wasn't helping him because she could not pinpoint the source of the problem – not when he was so clammed up. She found Abed in the corner of the library one evening, perusing the comment section of a Cougar Town forum – he had just been appointed moderator a few weeks before. Abed listened to her with the curious expression that had become his signature, and he remained silent until she had exhausted her attempts in making him understand the depths of Jeff's depression, because let's face it, Britta likes to digress.
With a slight twist of his head, Abed began explaining the preconceived theories of a "May-December relationship". Society tended to put number barriers on romance because they held dangerous tensions between pedophilia and the disruption of youthful innocence – especially when sex is involved. He pointed out that there was nothing wrong with the love, it was the age that got people riled up, people tended to believe the numerical evidence rather than qualitative – that when love is present, there isn't room for numbers. When the numerical difference becomes too extreme, there is a worry of corruption and exploitation.
Bewildered, Britta interrupted him with a sputter, "Hold on, Nadir. You're telling me that Jeff and Annie are in love? Or at least Jeff is? And if I can safely assume the direction you're trying to go, Jeff is suffering from a broken heart because he is too immersed in the social rejection of his 'love' for Annie?"
He looked at her, clearly underwhelmed by her astonishment and confusion simply replied.
"Yes." As if it was obvious. And she really didn't need him to explain any further.
Jeff was suffering from a broken heart because he was in love.
She went home that night rather numb with shock…and a slight disappointment. Gerald greeted her at the door with his normal affection and she set about preparing his dinner while he twirled around her ankles. The clock on her stove said it was half past nine. It was a Friday night so she knew Jeff would be arriving shortly. He usually made his rounds at a couple of divy bars before showing up in a haggard state at her doorstep.
Jeff and Annie.
Jeff and Annie.
Jeff and Annie.
Jeff and Annie.
Round and round their names chanted in her head, as if trying to beat her into submission, into acceptance. She wondered why it was so obvious to Abed and yet she never even considered the notion before. Then again, she was questioning the observational powers of Abed – he acknowledges things he knows people refuse to admit because the level of discomfort it brings. She snorted as she spooned the contents of Fancy Feast into Gerald's bowl; here she was paying full tuition to incorporate a skill Abed was born with, and will probably exploit into millions of dollars with filmmaking while she will probably graduate with tens of thousands of dollars in debt.
But there, at least now she has a source of the problem. She has what Abed lacks: empathy. She will at least try to help him. So, that night she sits and anticipates the impatient knock that echoes through her small apartment and that used to scare Gerald into hiding. Around ten thirty, his fists bang against the other side of the front door and she invites him in. As always, he smells of a toxic concoction of cigars and scotch, but she's grown used to the stench and had bought an incense diffuser to put on the corner living room table. Settling down across from him, she handed him a cup of coffee which he gratefully accepted. She had rehearsed what she would say to him for an hour. She knew not to beat around the bush about it; he was too skilled in rhetoric to be backed into a corner. Jeff was not one to readily admit – plausible deniability was something he backed faithfully, as much as his agnostic self would allow anyway. So she knew she had to spring it out, surprise him into admission. So the moment she sees him settle back against the armchair cushions, and close his eyes as he sips the coffee, she attacks.
"You're in love with Annie."
Maybe she was hoping for a rebuttal. Maybe she was hoping for open denial. But even as she waited for him to react, she knew it was true. She had been unwilling to see it up until now; Abed was right – as he always was. They never questioned him because they knew he was right, and he never forced it upon them because television and movies had instructed him otherwise because how else would they keep viewers watching?
So when Jeff set his coffee cup down on the table and proceeded to throw on his suit jacket to exit her apartment without a word, all she could marvel was how her curiosity intensified at his silence. All of a sudden she wanted to know When? Why? Where? How?
Gerald pawed at his pant leg as he bent down to tie his shoes. She watched him as he paused in his attempts to escape to give a soft pat to the yellow, furry head. It was this display of gentle affection that prompted her to speak again.
"I don't know what happened between you two. But I know this: love can exist in any world, in any society – so long as it's real. If it's real then there should be no question. You can either die trying to please the world and be miserable, or live in happiness and without regret. It's your call, Winger. The jury's out on this one, it's only you."
The door slammed and Gerald yowled.
She wonders if she did the right thing.
Annie tries dating other men.
There was Cliff, whom she met in her creative writing class. He was twenty nine and said his favourite author was Cormac McCarthy. He wore sensible colours like brown and forest green and drove a beat up Honda Civic. He asked her out after their third class together and she readily agreed. She thought this was the time to explore and maybe finally establish a more grounded relationship with a normal, intelligent man for once.
But time revealed she wasn't ready for that either. Cliff took her to expensive restaurants that required her to go through tormenting afternoons of scavenging through her closet trying to find something decent to wear which she hadn't worn already. She found herself longing for milkshakes and hot dogs as she perused through the menus of filet mignons and steak tartars. While they did have challenging conversations, a quiet voice in her head whispered a longing to talk of last week's Gossip Girl. And God forbid she mention the word "Twitter"in front of him – the eye roll she was subjected to when she announced the latest "OldWhiteManSays" tweet spoke volumes of his opinion on new media.
So after Cliff, she took a break from the dating aspect of her life and threw herself in reckless abandon into her studies. She tutored Troy and Abed in the middle of the semester, after both came crying to her about their midterm results. They had only managed to pass because each one committed themselves to study and memorize one half of the tested portion, but didn't think far enough to teach each other what they had learned. So every Tuesday they would gather at Troy and Abed's apartment and bury themselves in flash cards and crushed cans of energy drinks. She found they were surprisingly willing to learn and that made them easy to teach. She'd sit in maternal satisfaction as they scribbled answers on the mock quizzes she made for them. Sometimes she'd have to prod Abed back to reality; he had a tendency to gaze at her quizzically and lose himself to whatever was going through his mind. She'd snap at him seemingly out of annoyance, but really it was out of uneasiness. She hated it whenever he looked at her that way, like she knew something about her that even she didn't.
But her extended periods of time with the two helped her realize she didn't like dating younger guys either. Maybe it was her rush to grow up as a child, with the constant grievances of her parents. Maybe it was her time in rehab that forced her to mature and take on an expedited journey toward adulthood. As much fun as she had with the two boys, she tired easy when she was with them. She could find no happy medium and was beginning to think there was no such thing in love.
So she stopped dating altogether, and learned to say no to Troy and Abed every other time they invited her to do something. She began filling her schedule with a balanced mixture of extracurricular and recreational activities. She found that she could unwind and enjoy it. All she had to do was really find out what she liked doing. Therefore, when she didn't have the strength or motivation to put up with Troy and Abed on the weekends, she spent the hours bent over her desk with a hot glue gun in one hand and colourful crystals and beads in the other. She found she had the patience and a steady hand for crafts and soon she gifted numerous earrings and bracelets to Britta and Shirley, taking time to personalize each accessory according to individual taste.
It takes her mind of schoolwork, transferring, model UN, work, and the people wandering around Dildopolis beneath her. It forces her to think and consider her relationships with her friends and put value in herself and their connections. She learns she likes valuing other people first for once when Pierce quietly came up to her one time after Biology and asked if she would be willing to make a necklace for his ten year old niece. The warmth that blossomed in her chest was a rush she never felt before, a source of internal energy that was organic and sustainable in a way that Adderall never was. She takes a step back from herself at this point and realizes for once in her life, she likes the person she's becoming.
Of course she thinks about Jeff. She doubts there was any activity in the world that would prevent her thoughts from straying to him. But she doesn't allow the thoughts to linger. The vision of his face made her hands shake, and she needed them steady lest she burned them with her glue gun. It wasn't that she didn't want to think about him, it was just painful.
One weekend at Troy and Abed's house, they were taking a bathroom break from a Jason Bourne marathon; it was Abed's turn to use the john which left Annie and Troy in the living room. Matt Damon's frozen face served as a backdrop as they devoured Abed's share of the popcorn. She had stuffed a handful of popcorn in her mouth and was making a visible effort to keep them in there while she chewed when Troy spoke of a 'dude' named Lance in his Mechanics of Plumbing class expressing an interest in her. She took the time to swallow with dignity before asking him to remind her who Lance was again.
You know, reddish brown hair? Brown eyes, really muscular and tall? Kind of looks like Jeff?
She choked a bit at that, and pretended it was from a residual kernel stuck in her throat. She remembered him now. He did look a little like Jeff; she had seen him walking out with Troy from their classroom on her way to her calculus class. Her eyes had lingered on Lance's form a bit too long for a stranger and he had noticed and gave her a tentative smile. She remembered thinking Jeff would never do that, and feeling disappointed in herself for using him a gauge of attraction. Annie shook her head and smiled at Troy. Thanks but no thanks, she wasn't interested. Troy shrugged and Abed returned to the living room. She scooted over on the couch to make room for him again and the threesome settled back together.
Abed makes a stray comment about Jason Bourne and Pamela Landy twenty minutes after they resumed the movie, that a lot of people believe the chemistry between the two even though they never meet, simply because their relationship was based on mutual understanding. It's a tragic sort of relationship, he mused, something that their world denied them simply because of circumstance. They could only communicate in disjointed phone calls and it's just enough to keep them going.
Troy, in a rare moment of poignancy, speaks up and says maybe they're just waiting for the right time. When the world is ready for them.
She gets a lump in her throat and she stands up abruptly. She announces that she has to go to the washroom even though she just went half an hour ago and brusquely walks away toward the bathroom. She could feel Abed's eyes on hers and she walks a little faster, just as the tears begin to fall.
Stupid Jason Bourne. Stupid movie. Stupid Abed. Stupid Troy.
Gripping the edge of the bathroom sink, she counted backwards from thirty in effort to steady her breathing. She must wait for control. She'll just have to wait for when the time was right. This was what life was about, wasn't it? You pay your dues and you'll get what your payoff. All she needed to do was wait.
He stops showing up to Britta's apartment.
He tells himself he has better things to do with his time than lounge around with a girl he's already slept with and her cat, and talk about stuff they can discuss at school. So he continues to make his rounds at the local bars, and continues to hook up with carefully selected women who don't remind him of a certain brunette he sees at school.
Jeff refuses to think about Britta's words because like everything else that woman brings up, it doesn't apply to him. Not the dire needs of third world countries, not the contamination of harmful chemicals seeping through our natural resources, and certainly not her preaching on love. Britta was always going on about what could be improved in the world, and what could be beneficial if they changed this or that. He knows what's good for him and what's not. He doesn't need a defiant blond woman to shove it down his throat like an ill-tasting cough medicine.
Weeks pass and he and the motivation to keep prowling the night clubs and bars slowly ebbs away from his psyche. There was a small part of him that begrudgingly admits he never really liked the bachelor lifestyle anyway. So he takes to hanging around a café two blocks from his apartment, choosing a new book to read from their bookshelf and spends his evenings sipping americanos and enjoying the occasional scone.
He briefly wonders if he's getting old, as he grows to appreciate the quiet lifestyle that isn't entertained with alcohol, and preferring to occupy his time in a dimly lit coffee house where more cultured folk frequent. Pierce would say he was being gay. But Annie would say he was growing up – maturing. He smiled at that thought, noting the rueful irony.
Outside, the fall season is gradually making itself at home amongst the leaves, and the temperature drops to a nippy degree. Annie had once said fall was "cuddling season", and when a slight draft wafts in as the café door opened and closed, for a second he thinks that a companion would be quite nice to brave the chill with during nights like this. The pretty barista that works the shifts he usually comes in at stops by his table for a minute to make small talk, and slips him biscotti wrapped in a brown napkin with a slight wink. He smiled and was just about to make a suggestive remark about her eyes when he hears the tinkle of the café entrance. Distracted, he watches a young mother leading a small boy across the floor. The barista hurriedly returns to the front to assist them. The mother reaches down to smooth the boy's chestnut brown hair, which had been tousled by the wind outside and asks him if he wanted a cookie with his hot chocolate. The boy smiled, displaying wide gaps between his front teeth and nodded. His mother laughed and exchanged pleasantries with the barista as they both approached the cash register.
He decides to visit his mother during Thanksgiving break.
Doreen Fitzgerald opens her front door one rainy afternoon to find her son, windswept and rosy cheeked, smiling a tentative smile, and standing awkwardly on the porch. She stared in shock before ushering him in and hurriedly taking his wet peacoat, all the while admonishing him for not wearing a scarf, when she saw he was carrying an overnight bag in his right hand. Words die at her lips as she looked up at her son, whom she hadn't seen in a little over a year. His brow was furrowed in hesitation and quietly murmured that if it was alright with her, he'd like to spend Thanksgiving weekend with her. Her right hand flew to her breast and she clutched at the material of her apron. "Of course it was alright with her. What on earth could possess him to even ask such a question?" She bustled around the narrow hallway avoiding his eyes and quickly led the way to the living room, using the corner of her apron to brush away the tears that had sprung in the corners of her eyes.
She asked him if he wanted a cup of tea, she was just bringing out the kettle and Mrs Sprinter, you remember the lady across the street? She had brought over her delicious oatmeal cookies just the day before. Doreen raced around her kitchen, motioning for her son to sit and get warm by the heater. It was a good thing he had come, she continued, trying to get used to the fact that he was actually present, she had received a ten pound turkey from Mr Phillips, (remember he helped you build your first soapbox racer?) next door whom had gone hunting just a few days ago. She was wondering how on earth she was going to finish it. "You still like orange pekoe, right?" She threw in over her shoulder as she tried to reach the top shelf that held the tea jar. Her arthritis was acting up again so she was having a particularly hard time with the task. Suddenly, a large hand rested gently on her shoulder. She stepped sideways as Jeff's six foot four frame retrieved the jar with ease and went about her kitchen getting the sugar bowl and creamer. She smiled and when he turned to face her once again, she patted him affectionately on the cheek.
Their Thanksgiving dinner was a quiet but pleasant affair. Mrs Phillips had popped by the next day after they had dessert to quell her curiosity of seeing the bright, shiny Lexus parked in front of her driveway. Jeff was polite and courteous, and made charming remarks to the elderly lady that left her quite flustered, her friend had left quite reluctantly but not before promising to come by again with more cookies.
Their evening was spent watching the television. He introduced her to The Real Housewives, and she was appalled by how the term 'housewife' was now linked to such atrocities. But mostly she watched her son. His lanky figure sprawled along her moth eaten sofa as he sipped a glass of sherry. She couldn't help but feel a spark of pride as she roamed over his handsome face and muscular frame. They had had a difficult life together, with her and Will's divorce, and their subsequent financial struggles. But they pulled through; she had raised a good son.
It was their last night together, and they were in the middle of playing a game of backgammon. She noticed that his cell phone had been buzzing all night but he never made a motion to pick it up or acknowledge its attempts to get his attention. She wondered what exactly he was escaping from. But their time apart in recent years had dissipated their level of comfort around one another and she found it difficult to formulate any prying questions.
"Mom, how come you never re-married?"
Her fingers fumbled with the dice, startled. She licked her lips and her eyes drifted towards the window. Thanksgiving weekend had been a cloudy and miserable affair but she could see the slightest break between the hovering clouds overhead.
"Because I had you to take care of, sweetie. There wasn't time for any romantic frivolity. And plus, we had a good life didn't we?" she smiled assuredly across the wooden table, letting him know that she felt no regrets. He smiled in response and was quiet before speaking up again.
"Are you lonely?" as he removed one of his checkers from the board, smiling slightly in triumph.
"No. I have good friends, and a comfortable home." She rolled the dice and manoeuvred one of her pieces to block his. "and I have a handsome son to brag of." She winked at him and he gave a small laugh.
"So…you're happy? Even though you could have gotten married again but chose to raise me as a single mom instead?"
"Jeffrey, you're the centre of my world. You made me happier than any man could. I didn't need a man to make me function. I had you to think of and I wanted to raise you in the least damaging way possible and I didn't think bring a stranger into our lives would help. I loved you fiercely, and I made sure you knew that every single day you were under my roof."
She paused for a bit as she considered the board.
"You make your own happiness, Jeffrey. No one else can decide what's appropriate for you or what's good for you. Life would be meaningless then."
As she removed her final piece and tallied up her points, she let out a victorious laugh and looked up at her son. For a flashing moment, she thought his eyes looked especially bright, but ruled it out as the result of poor lighting because he blinked and all was normal and he began accusing her of cheating.
They had all gathered at Pierce's house for Thanksgiving dinner. No one had heard from Jeff all weekend, and no matter how many texts, emails, and tweets they sent his way, he never replied.
The group had shrugged and resumed their games of Twister. Pierce began yelling for them to remove an article of clothing every time the arrow hits blue.
No one noticed Annie chewing her lip as she checked her Facebook newsfeed as well as her Twitter feed on her phone. Nor did she or anyone else notice Britta watching her with a soft look in her eyes.
The fireplace was crackling merrily. Pierce had just fed it new cedar logs and the pleasant foresty aroma wafted through the living room. Annie breathed in deeply and settled against the cushions of the enormous armchair and blinked lazily around at her friends. The champagne Pierce had happily force fed her was now warming its way across her brain. She could barely keep her eyes open and she watched the others through bleary slits. As she was wondering how on earth she was going to get home tonight, she felt the armrest shift to accommodate additional weight. Someone was calling her name and brushing her hair back softly. Shaking her head slightly, she looked up to see Britta smiling down at her.
"Sweetie, maybe we should get you to bed."
"…okay."
Between Britta and Troy, Annie was carried off to the second floor where numerous guestrooms awaited them. She felt herself lowered onto a soft mattress , and from the light flowery perfume that reached her nostrils as someone tucked a quilt under her chin, she knew it was Britta. Reaching up with her left hand, she whimpered slightly and grasped the her fingers before they retreated – all of a sudden she was afraid; she didn't like the intoxicating effect of alcohol, her world was spinning and the helplessness seemed too familiar.
"Can you just stay with me a bit? Please? I don't feel too good…" Rasping slightly, she blinked up at the blurry blond headed figure hovering over her. Troy's voice said something about getting a glass of water and a bucket and then the door clicked shut. Britta climbed onto bed next to her and leaned against the headboard as Annie snuggled close to the woman's lap.
"Thank you, Britta."
"Anytime, Annie."
"Britta?" Annie was on the verge of consciousness and sleep, the weight of the brink made her eyelids heavy and she was beginning to give into keeping them shut. She gave a little sigh and nestled deeper into the sheets.
"Yeah?"
"I wish…I wish I was more like you." She mumbled.
Britta glanced down at Annie, regarding her closely and a bit confusedly. "What on earth would make you say that?"
"You have more self respect than I do. All I have are my boobs to boost my confidence."
She was rewarded with a bark of laughter from Britta. She grinned sheepishly into the mattress and shifted so her arms were crossed against her chest.
"Annie, you have been blessed with intelligence and a drive for intellect that no one in Greendale can rival. The thing is, you have never let 'Annie's boobs' block you from doing what your mind has been capable of all along. Stay the way you are, Annie. I guarantee you; you don't carry the study group just by your voluptuous chest."
"Thanks, Britta."
"Mmhmm."
"Annie?"
Annie struggled to open her eyes again at the sound of her name. Her vision had stopped spinning, but the fatigue at crept in further and where was Troy with her water, anyway? "Yes?"
"It's ok to be who you are."
She smiled and was about to thank her but Britta continued.
"Just like it's ok to love who you want because of who you are."
Words died at her lips and tongue, and she lost the will to speak altogether. Britta was still stroking her hair gently, and in that moment her mind became blindingly clear, and tears sprang unwillingly into her eyes, she tried forcing them away but the more she blinked, the more they stung against her lids. It was too late, they fell fast and furious onto the pillows and soon she was choking back sobs. She felt thin arms wrap around her shoulders and neck, and she knew the jig was up.
When Troy finally came back with a plastic bucket and a tall glass of warm water, he found Britta laying beside Annie, rubbing soothing circles into the girl's back and murmuring soft nothings. He saw Annie's shaking shoulders and gently, as quietly as he could, set down the bucket by the door and the water by the bedside table. When he successfully retreated from the room, he went straight to Abed to ask what everything he just witnessed meant.
Life moves on.
She's in her junior year at Greendale and she knows it's time to either get in or get out. Her 4.0 gpa was still maintained, despite having failed the terrarium project in Biology (appealing to the school board helped, unbeknownst to the study group.) She starts booking bi-weekly appointments with transfer advisors. As much as they put down their college, Greendale still had a handful of competent faculty members; Dean Pelton hasn't been able to keep his job through sheer incompetence, he had at least taken the time to carefully select good (and goodlooking) staff to aid in their students' academic journey.
Annie slowly tries to stop spending so much time with her study group. As she is handed more brochures and student calendars of different reputable schools, she realizes her life at Greendale will end someday, so she chooses to disassociate herself from her adopted family a bit at a time; more for her benefit than theirs – she went through withdrawal before, and it wasn't pleasant. But Troy and Abed still hold her hand and grasp her elbow whenever they find themselves near her, and she realizes letting go of true friends isn't as easy as she thought it would be. But still, she mused, it's a good problem to have as she smiles and dotes on her adventurous companions.
Near the end of the fall semester, her main advisor, Kathleen, gently reminds her that she needs to pick a designated faculty once she starts officially applying to state schools. It will speed the process along, and you should be considering what you want to be doing career wise once you get out of school, she said. Most likely noticing the anxiety that flitted across the young girl's face, Kathleen squeezed her hand and said it was all a matter of squaring your shoulders and facing your options. Annie gave a nod, small but resolute.
Sitting cross legged in her living room one night, she spread the brochures in a circle around her and quietly made a list of their outstanding and accredited programs. As much as she pranced around her childhood bragging to be a doctor one day, her stint in rehab deterred her from wanting to pursue a career in the medical field; there was too much temptation, she doubted she had enough willpower to sustain in an environment where drugs seem to flow freely. So pharmaceuticals were crossed out by default – there was enough corruption in the world without having to dip her own hand into it.
Sighing, she gathered herself into a tight ball and rested her chin on her knees. Toeing a glossy, green brochure she knew she already made up her mind. She stood up and grabbed her backpack from the kitchen and pulled out the manila folder Kathleen had handed her earlier that morning. Settling down with a pen poised tightly between her fingers, she began filling out the application for Columbia's law school.
She's not the girl who lives in the moment. She's not the girl who believes in the mutual exclusiveness of sex and emotions. She's not the type of person to put all her eggs into one basket and hope for the best.
She's the type of girl who seeks and sifts through moments, weights consequences and preparation. She's the type of girl who believes sex capitalizes on emotions. She's the type of girl who knows what she wants, and what she deserves. So she will always, always be the girl who will work hard to get what she wants and what she deserves. She admits that sometimes what she actually wants falls into simple, youthful ignorance, those stories of naïve girls who chase after men who want nothing to do with them, but she knows she at least deserves a shot.
She owes herself at least a shot.
Annie produces the required two photocopies of her application, reference letters, transcripts and her entrance essay to Kathleen the very next day. The woman smiled and instead of shaking her hand as she normally did with past students, she wraps her plump, motherly arms around the young girl's shoulders and happily congratulates her in the hallway. She grins shyly as she pulls away and begins to walk to her next class. As the students bustle around her, a slow and steady weight drifts from her chest and shoulders. Breathing in deeply, the weight disperses and ebbs away with every jolt from each passing student until she feels the lightest she's been in years. Her stride becomes more pronounced, and her step gains a skip until she's practically sprinting down the fluorescent lighted hallway. her practical flats dance along the vinyl flooring,and she finds herself not running to the direction of her literature class but towards the main entrance of the school.
Bursting through the heavy metal doors the sunshine streams across her face as she pauses at the steps, breathing in heavily while taking in the quad. The club booths, the hacky sack players, the Greenpeace meetings, and just student milling across the grass and cement, filling the air with chatter and mindless laughter, all unconscious of the brunette's incoming change. This was her change. This was finally, the beginning of the end.
There was only one person she wished to share this with.
She sees him crossing the parking lot. Books and binders tucked safely under his arm as he checked his blackberry with his other hand. She calculates the distance between them. There were approximately sixty yards from him to where she was standing. If he continued to walk at his leisurely pace, she estimates it will take him maybe seven to ten minutes to reach her. If she broke out into a run, she could meet him two thirds of the way before they would be mere inches from each other, before his eyes would look up at meet her anxious ones. She could calculate all these things, but what she wouldn't be able to anticipate was his reaction. His eyes could skirt away from hers, and mumble a quick hello before saying he was running late for class. He could smile a smile that she knew he only used for the girls whose names he never remembered and bumped into later on – the one where he showed you were barely a blip on his radar. Or he could just pat her clumsily on the head and ask if she had last week's biology notes.
The students around her were getting irritable, grumbling why on earth she insisted on blocking the main entrance. But the circling thoughts whirled relentlessly through her mind, barely registering the exasperation she was causing. Her stomach tightened as she realized he had already made it halfway across the quad and it would only take him maybe another three minutes for him to be standing directly in front of her. She had never prepared for anything like this. She was never rewarded with a non-awkward celebratory interaction with him. So she decided to go with the odds and retreat. Finally removing herself from the top of the steps, she made her way to the cafeteria where she figured Shirley would be, and she could expect a warm, enveloping embrace that wouldn't be inhibited by unresolved tension.
Instead, she found Pierce sitting alone in the back corner with three large milkshakes and five buckets of French fries surrounding his scattered notes and pencils. Timidly, she stepped up to the table and asked if she could sit down. Pierce's smile was a mixture of surprise and friendliness that always pulled at her chest – like he never expected people to wantto be around him, or seek his company. He quickly dived into telling her about his class earlier this afternoon. How his female professor may have the hots for him because she gave him a 6.9 out of 10 on a quiz. She listened quietly, and laughed at the appropriate times. The news of her application to law school was on the tip of her tongue and the drive to blurt it out was jammed in the back of her throat. But looking at the older man before her, she knew there would only really be resentment in his response. He would view her departure as abandonment. He had sought out a group of friends for the last twelve years and they were the only ones crazy enough to stick around and call him on his shots. So she kept mum about her news. Even with Shirley and Britta joined them a short while later, the urge died and laid in the pit of her stomach, slowly churning and rolling itself around in her body, until it merely became a hardened seed of undigested information.
She couldn't lose her family now. Not when she hadn't even received an acceptance letter yet. It was too risky. They'd never forgive her for wanting to leave.
She'll tell them when and if it was time.
He wonders why she was constantly seen outside of the advisor's office.
He had asked Abed (he can't ask Britta about Annie anymore), and Abed pursed his lips and replied with a nonchalant shrug saying it was possible Annie is facing with a large decision that would alter the course of her lifestyle and needed executive guidance. Her driven personality will always prompt her to seek out as many resources as possible before making an astute decision. He marvels at how much Abed really knows about the study group without stalking them personally because no one should be that in tune with another's psyche.
But he continues to keep his distance. If she was in fact going through a personal alteration, then the least he could do was stay out of her way and not complicate things further. So he studied her from afar, and feigned mild interest when her name came up in conversations.
Fall gave way to winter and as he twisted the dial on his heater and made a mental note to pick up his down jacket from the dry cleaners, he worries if she was keeping warm in her dingy apartment.
He wonders what it means to evolve.
The question had been addressed already in the beginning of semester. And he had already shown his reluctance to forgo such a transition. But nevertheless, as he turned the corner of the east wing hallway to find Troy and Britta locked in a passionate embrace by the water fountain, he finds himself forced to face two choices natural selection had embedded in him: fight or flight?
They were ten feet away, and their kisses seemed to be fuelled with a certain hunger that told him there was more than lust – there was a fire that could only have been sparked by a mutual spark of understanding and enlightenment. He stood there with his arms fallen limp at his sides and he wracks through his choices of acting as a friend, an ex lover, or an alpha-male contender. On which grounds should he choose to fight, or take flight?
Against his instinct, his feet swivels in the direction he just came and he chooses flight. He noted the thundering inside his chest and the twinge of irritation that writhed in his stomach. But he also noted the numbness that traveled across his brain and abated any anger that might have surfaced. The decision to flee had not derived from cowardice, or anger. He walked away simply out of acquiescence. The value of their friendship overpowered any irrational tendencies, and he found he had been watching them with a certain level of peaceful reservation and acceptance.
Maybe this was what evolution was. Learning to accept and digest chance, and ultimately adapting around situations.
Maybe evolution came when the circumstances deemed it necessary.
Maybe it was also a matter of communal sacrifice; a swallowing of pride to accommodate others because the alternative would be dissipation.
He certainly didn't feel shocked, he realized as he walked back toward the west wing campus. They had been making "googly eyes" back and forth all semester, and he had caught Troy sneaking appreciative glances at her more than once. It was only a matter of time before two sexually active individuals gave in to such built up tension. Shirley would be happy; it would give her another excuse to bake since she'd undoubtedly want to invite them over for a couple's night with her and Andre. Pierce will be disappointed – Britta's closeted sexuality was a notion he entertained quite a bit in his senile brain.
As for Annie…
His feet skipped a step and he almost face planted had he not thrown out his hand to catch himself along the wall. Regaining his composure, his thoughts continued as he sidestepped others passing him. Annie had been in love with Troy practically half her life. She had followed him relentlessly throughout first year and had been practically manic in her possessiveness over him. What would she feel about seeing Britta plastered over her high school crush? It would certainly be a turning of tables he thought mildly. It was usually Annie kissing guys Britta had dumped. But Annie had never kissed Troy…
Had she?
His fixation on that possibility kept him from noticing a dark, slight figure falling in step with him as he passed by the library doors.
"I suppose you saw?"
"What the crap, Abed! Don't dothat!" He ran a hand roughly through his hair and scrambled to pick up the loose papers that had fallen from his clutch.
"Sorry."
Straightening up, he fixed Abed with a quizzical eye, "Saw what?"
"Troy and Britta." He stated matter of factly. "I assumed that's why you're so distracted and seemingly agitated."
Jeff stopped walking and turned to study his friend. He was standing rather forlornly; his arms stiff, and grasping tightly at the handle of his camera, and his gaze was less focused than normal.
"Hey Abed?"
"Yah?"
"Let's go get a drink, buddy."
They didn't go to L Street.
Instead, he drove home with Abed quietly sitting in the passenger seat, passively filming the people and cars whizzing by outside the window. The car was palpable with a determined calm. Jeff didn't know what to say to Abed exactly, it wasn't as if he lost a girlfriend, but in Abed's structured and logical mind, having Troy's attention and time diverted elsewhere would mean a certain level of disruption and alienation. His friend wasn't like other people, so normal, one dimensional words of comfort would probably fall flat when uttered.
They entered his apartment without any expression of grandeur. The only disclaimer he made before turning the knob was that under any circumstance was he allowed to film or take pictures of his furniture, accessories, and arrangements to document for future filming use.
Abed immediately took to perusing his Blu-Ray and DVD collection, settling cross-legged in front of the glass case and ran a slender finger along the display. Jeff went to the kitchen and got him a cold beer before pouring himself a tumbler of scotch.
"Here buddy."
Abed looked up and accepted the perspiring bottle without a word.
Nodding to the collection, "You want to watch anything?" Thinking maybe Abed needed to escape in a film for a while.
"No, your collection has nothing of substantial interest to me."
Ouch.
He winced, feeling a bit defensive; he didhave the collector's edition of The Gooniesafter all. If that wasn't substantial, he didn't know what was.
"Jeff."
"Yah." He half groaned as he settled back against his leather couch and propped his legs up on the coffee table in front of him.
"I'm ok with Troy having a girlfriend, really. It's something I have been expecting. Troy is an attractive, fertile adolescent male who has displayed an enthusiastic attitude toward the opposite sex. The fact that the partner is Britta is also an outcome I have considered."
"You have?"
"Of course, I anticipated numerous outcomes for our study group. Exploration of desire is a vital experience in adolescence and college."
"…I guess." Jeff really preferred to think about the femaletendency to explore in college. But he'll give Abed his point. "So, what about after college, Abed? How do our explorations define our lives after we graduate and assume adulthood?"
Opening the glass door of the display case, he started examining the box collection of Roswell, Abed was silent for a beat or two before replying.
"It depends on the individual. In terms of romance, success rates of relationships formed in high school depend a lot on whether or not they go away to college or choose to remain in their hometown. When they decide to leave, they are automatically relegated to a journey of self-discovery – an option they wouldn't have been able to explore in their sequestered life of high school. The college experience is extremely individualized, whereas high school is faceless and nameless for the majority of the student population. Relationships conceived in post-secondary make more sense and often more stabilized, simply because they know more about who they are and what they want. It's also a place where they learn society's perpetuation of norms can be broken. People who were deemed "weird" in their high school usually find equally weird people in college. Therefore, the discrimination and exclusion they were pitted against all their lives become null and invalid."
He paused to put back the box set and take a long sip of his Heineken. Behind him, the wooden blinds of his patio door slapped against the glass as cold breeze blew in through an open crack.
Jeff felt goosebumps crawl up his forearms and he shivered slightly.
"Abed…how much do you know?"
The other man stretched out his legs in front of him and points his toes in opposite directions.
"I know you and Annie are in love. And you two are just too scared to admit it."
Setting his glass down on the table, taking care to make sure a coaster was beneath it to prevent water stains, he leaned forwards and covered his face with both palms. There was a silence that wedged itself between them – the blinds still slapping wildly.
It was cautious at first. Initially, Abed wasn't quite sure what he was hearing. But within moments the apartment was filled with Jeff's gruff laughter and he joined in short beats after. His own staccato baying became quite immersed in the loud barks of the hysterical ex lawyer.
That evening he took Abed out to a nearby diner and treated him to as many milkshakes and burgers as he wanted.
He had looked down at his measly salad and looked up at his companion, happily chowing down, and waved the waitress back over to their corner, "Fuck it. Give me two cheeseburgers and a side of mashed potatoes – extra sour cream and gravy please."
She gets into Columbia.
Annie lines up the brochures and acceptance letter side by side, taking care to make sure they lay parallel to the edges of her wobbly kitchen table. There is a small balloon filling up in her chest as she stares at the words of the elite welcoming her into their prestigious fold. Her first instinct was to phone her mother, but as her hands made to dial her childhood home, she remembered she was barred from even trespassing their phone lines. So instead she celebrates by purchasing herself a new pair of black leather pumps from the thrift store down the street. They made her legs look sleek and longer than usual, and already she feels empowered enough to strut the halls of Ivy Leagues.
That evening, she spends five hours at her crafts table feverishly gluing and threading bits of beads and ribbon, separating them into six identical piles and worked tirelessly into the late hours of twilight.
She was purposefully late to the study group the next day. She wanted to arrive when everyone else had arrived; she didn't like to sit on news, preferring to pounce on opportunity as soon as it came; like ripping off a band-aid.
There was a stunned silence that threatened to weight down and crush her. Everyone except for Britta looked devastated. The blond woman's translucent face was flushed with fervent pride, and she felt a rush of gratitude toward her friend; they shared a long gaze of silent understanding before it was finally broken by Shirley's, "Oh, An-nie…"
Looking round at the table, she continued in a soft but determined voice that she'd be leaving at the end of semester to get settled in and find a place to live, as well as look for part time work. She'd be starting next fall, but it's better to get established early on so she's prepared and accustomed to New York before school starts – they knew how she hates being unprepared.
She stops when her voice begins to fail her and crack in the air. So she digs around in her backpack to produce six small, velvet pouches. She hands them out one by one and they each open them gingerly. They're friendship bracelets, she explained.
Something to remember her by because she'd miss them so much…
Abed immediately put them on with a soft snap and looked expectantly around at the rest, and they followed suit. Troy gestured to Abed and they quickly enacted their version of the Wonder Twins.
She finally succumbed to her tears, blubbering incoherently about how she loved them so much, and she wouldn't know what she'd do without them. And New York hasto have a million more stores like Dildopolis, so most likely she'd be living above another sex store – what would she do without them to shield her from the grossness of it all?
Five pairs of arms enveloped her sobbing form and she heard Pierce wailing along with her, which finally elicited a watery chuckle escape from her lips.
She peeked through the elbows of Britta and Abed and found Jeff's. He had remained rooted to his seat at the head of the table. When he caught her gaze, he quickly raised a thumbs-up and a slight smile before showing her he had put on his bracelet as well. She nodded her response but could think of nothing to say. Her eyes raked his hairline, the creases around his eyes, his strong nose, and his lips which always seemed to be pulled down in a frown. She traced his jaws, and her fingers prickled as she remembered their graze along her palms when she had grabbed them in both her hands. The breath in her throat threatens to choke her and she forces herself to look away.
They go dancing at the nightclub downtown. Not surprisingly, Jeff doesn't show up. But she doesn't mind.
At least she thinks she doesn't until it's four hours later and she's being pushed out of Abed's dad's beat up pick-up truck by Troy. Falling gracelessly on her knees, her skirt blowing up in the process, she looks up and realizes she's at the entrance of Jeff's apartment building.
"Guys, what the he-" She squealed, trying to dislodge her heel from sinking in the grass. But all she received in response was a struggling engine and then a muffled cackling. Looking up, she caught the tail of the truck drifting down the block with Troy hanging surreptitiously out the passenger window, waving like a delusional maniac. She barely had time to register what exactly happened when she heard the lobby door open behind her and a sharp sliver of light illimunated the pathway. Jeff was walking toward her, his cell-phone pressed to his ears, a perplexed look on his face.
He helped her up, brushing the bits of grass off her arms, "Those guys are losing their touch; they gave you up beforeasking for the ransom." He smiled a bit hesitantly at her. She felt slightly dizzy, "All I asked them to do was take me home…" she tried to explain this wasn't her idea. That she had no clue why on earth their two friends would do such a thing and if he could call her a cab or something, she could get out of his way and go on home, he was probably busy doing something else which would explain why he didn't come out tonight.
A rough, callused hand cupped her chin and forced her to look up. His lips had curved into a slight smile and she felt her shoulders relax and her whole body drop forward.
"Come inside." His arm was rubbing hers gently, before grasping lightly at her elbow and led her towards the building. She stumbled a bit before her feet figured themselves out and followed him quietly, the whole while staring at his fingers curled around her arm.
She stepped into the apartment as softly as she could and took her time lining up her shoes by the door, not wanting to disturb anything around her. He closed the door after them and strode inside, throwing his jacket on his shoe cabinet and slipping off his leather sandals simultaneously.
"Would you like anything to drink?" he called over his shoulder as he walked toward the kitchen. She shrugged timidly and settled herself on the edge of the chair by the table. She tried to remember the last time she was in his apartment. As she watched him dig through a few cabinets to find some clean cups the vision of her sitting atop the counters so many months ago as he prepared them dinner, or her leaning against him as he poured them their morning coffee ruthlessly stormed through her mind.
When he finally settled down across the table from her, he pushed a steaming mug of tea in front of her and gestured for her to drink. "Come on, you were just pushed out of a moving vehicle, I would think that's traumatizing. We'll get those perps in the morning." She obliged him with a soft chucked and wrapped her cold, slightly shaking hands around the cup and took a small sip.
There were several minutes, maybe several days and weeks and numerous setting suns of silence before either of them spoke. Then it happened. She didn't know what made her do it, but when Jeff's phone began ringing, she thought of the possibility of him having spent the evening with someone else rather than go dancing with them…with her and she couldn't push the image out of her head. She stood up as he made to answer it and slapped his Blackberry away just as his fingers wrapped around it. The black plastic phone clattered noisily as it was propelled across the kitchen floor. Before he could so much as sputter indignantly, words immediately died as she closed upon his lips with her own.
There was an explosion in her chest that was missing for so many months. That dull, resounding ache which kept her up at night and she moaned into the pain. He responded with a firm grip of her bottom and pushed her down so she was straddling his lap. There was a fervent tangle of fingers, hair and tongues. The phone kept chiming and vibrating but it only added to their urgency to touch, taste and savour. He hoisted her up to his waist as he stood up and laid her down on the table, their mugs smashed on the ground; liquid and porcelain sprayed around the floor as they clawed through their clothes and skin. He raised himself up slightly and ripped off his shirt and was about to push down his jeans and briefs when she reached for him, wanting to help, to hurry him along, But his fingers met hers halfway, stilling them and gripping them tight.
"Jeff, please."
He raised her hand up to his lips and kissed teach finger one by one; letting his tongue wet them gently. Impatient, she lifted her hips off the cool surface of the table and pressed her heat against the crotch of his jeans and smiled splendidly as she felt the telling hardening even through the tough denim.
"Jeff…"
It was all he needed. He grabbed the waistband of her skirt, not caring to notice it wasn't elastic and proceeded to rip off the seams and buttons; tugging painfully against her skin but she hardly cared as she threw off her blouse and bra at the same time. Her breasts came free, having escaped the confines of the cotton bra; they heaved deliciously with her every breath, getting more exaggerated as her want grew. His large hand grabbed the generous bosom and he leant down as his thumb grazed her nipple and he choked into the crook of her neck. She fumbled, searching for his other hand and pushed it down between her legs. Rasping into her ear, he deftly slipped two fingers inside of her and she almost choked, her hips writhing in the air, begging him for more.
Beads of sweat were slipping down his nose and she kissed them away before he devoured her lips with his own. His thumb curled upwards, relieving her pulsing clit and she had to break away from their kiss and press her teeth against his collarbone to prevent from screaming out loud.
He removed his fingers, unable to stand it any longer, he pushed down his jeans and briefs and entered her. He hissed sharply, almost overpowered by the heat and tightness that closed up around him.
"Fucking hell, Annie." He gasped hoarsely. He reached for her, wrapping his arms around her narrow waist and holding her body tightly to his own. Their breath caught as their skin crashed against each other with every heaving motion. There didn't seem to be enough air in the apartment; they were desperately filling their lungs to keep up but his brain seemed to be suffocating, everything felt so hot, so tight, so fucking on the brink between life and death. He wanted it to stop, but he knew if he did, he'd just die.
With one final, quaking crash she came with a shuddering gasp and went limp in his arms, and he followed shortly after. He laid her back down on the table and he slumped gently on top of her, cradling her head in hands. Slowly, his mind began clearing and he could hear sounds of traffic through his kitchen window again. He felt her sit beneath him and he looked down at her to see a pair of wide bue eyes staring back. He rested a palm against her cheek and smiled. She nuzzled him slightly and held his hand in place, making sure he wouldn't move it.
"Jeff…"
"Yah?"
"I'm cold."
He barked a laugh and stood up, and lifted her from the table, careful avoid the shards of porcelain on the floor and made his way to the bedroom. He let her down on the soft sheets and climbed in next to her.
She scooted toward the centre of the mattress and quickly dived beneath the covers and he waited for her to get comfortably settled before reaching out for her. She laid down her head on his outstretched arm and her soft brown hair splayed out across his forearm and pillow. In silence, they stared at one another for a while, not quite knowing what to say or what should be said. She broke the peace first.
"How have you been?"
He took a deep breath, and studied the strands of her hair before replying.
"I…have been through hell and back." He smiled ruefully in the semi-darkness and felt her move closer toward him. His other arm made to reach out for her waist and wrapped it around her, locking her body in place.
"Jeffrey…"
"Annie…"
He felt her giggle, rather than heard it. Soft puffs of air against his skin, her fingertips began feathering along his stomach. "Jeff, I'm moving to New York."
He expelled a long breath through his nose. "I know."
"I thought…I thought if I go away, I'll become more of the girl who can date you. Who is appropriate to love you and be with you. That if I become this mature, sophisticated woman, no one would think twice about us being together. No one would look at Little Annie Riding Hood dating big bad Jeff Winger."
"Seriously? You're likening me to a predacious wolf?"
She ignored him as he knew she would. She lifted herself from his arms and climbed over him, locking him down with her arms and legs. The blanket slipped from her body but all he could see were her eyes in the soft light from the window: fiery and determined.
"You'd think after all these months apart, we'd know more about ourselves now. But all I have learned is how much I want you. The more I am by myself I am just pounded by the incessant needto be with you, wantingyou. So, all these months I have just been working towards you, Jeff Winger."
He looked up at her, her hair mussed and wild. The tears were beginning to fall and he made to brush them away but she slapped his hands down.
"You makeme, Jeff. That's all there is. That's all I know."
There she was, skin flushed, eyes red, cheeks wet, hair messy and he smiled. She glared at him and gave an impatient snort.
"Why are you smiling! This isn't funny Je-"
"I love you."
She stopped, her eyes still narrowed in suspicion. He pulled his fingers from her grip and ran them through her hair, smoothing out the tangles.
"I love you." He repeated. "That's all I know. That's all I need to know."
As her lips spread into a glorious smile, and her tears came down more earnestly, he thought of what he just did. As he pulled her down so she collapsed in a heap of relief and ecstasy against him, he thought of how he just told Annie he loved her and the world didn't end. There was no heavenly apparition to smite him to pieces. There was no earthquake which broke open the middle of his apartment, revealing gnarly hands reaching to pull him into Hell. There was no angry mob of brandished torches and pitchforks outside his door, chanting for his head on a stake.
Instead, he heard the distant barks of dogs in the neighbourhood, the honks of cars in night traffic and the occasional laughter of strangers traveling from down on the street. There were soft plodding of footsteps from the people above his apartment and someone was vacuuming next door.
As he wrapped the covers around Annie's soft body and murmured quietly into her ear, he realized he felt no guilt, nor any sense of wrong doing. He just felt…calm.
"Annie."
He felt her turn to face him.
"Let's go to New York together."
"Are you sure?"
"Annie, I'm done playing by other people's rules. Let's do this because as sick or creepy as it is to society or to whomever the fuck thinks can judge how I want to live my life, they can't convince me that I don't love you. They convinced me that I didn't need you before, and it almost killed me. I won't let them do it again."
He sat up and pulled her back with him so he rested against his headboard,
"We need to move on so the rest of the world can move on too. Look, don't you get it? This is the first time I am convinced that what I'm defending is the rightthing. I'm on the good side here for once and they're not going to take that away from me. If I ever needed to win before, it's now."
He kissed her.
Their worlds spin.
But it doesn't end.
They'll set their own standards. They'll set their own norms.
This is the tale of a destruction of innocence.
This is the beginning of a revolution.
"The truth is, there's been perverseness, and willfulness of attitude in many of the things you've done. At the center of a sick psyche there is a sick spirit. But, I love you. And we have no other choice, but to forgive each other."
- Joey, "Interiors". (1978)